It's a long story
by whitchry9
Summary: and god if that isn't the perfect description of their lives. In which Henry Morgan and John Amsterdam share their experiences of death, and both end up covered in blood.


The man sat up, gasping, and Henry nearly got whiplash from his head jerking up.

He gaped at at the man who had only recently stopped breathing, thanks to a lovely stab wound in his chest that Henry had been trying to hold pressure to. He obviously hadn't succeeded, considering the man had died just moments ago, and yet, here he was, alive and breathing, his brain apparently functioning if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Henry eyed him. "You... were dead. You were definitely dead." Really, it shouldn't be that frightening to him. He'd lost count of how many times he'd died, so why couldn't someone else?

The man rolled his neck. "Are you sure? I mean, sometimes my heart rate gets really low and I stop breathing for a bit, sleep apnea, but I'm fairly certain I wasn't dead. I'm alive now, after all, aren't I?"

Henry shook his head. "I'm a doctor. I can tell when someone's dead, and you sir, were very dead thanks to a well placed stab wound that I'm guessing nicked your aorta. Most of your blood volume is still on the ground." He gestured to the puddle that the man was still lying in. "You were definitely dead. And then you weren't."

The man looked down and grimaced. "Shit. I suppose there's really no getting out of this one."

Henry shook his head, and after a moment's thought, grinned and stuck out his hand. "I'm Henry Morgan. Pleasure to meet you."

The man examined him, before providing his and shaking firmly. "John Amsterdam. Nice to meet you too, I guess. This doesn't freak you out?"

"Oh, I think we have a lot in common, Mr Amsterdam."

"Oh really, Doctor Morgan?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you have experience with this sort of thing?"

"More than you'd think," he replied. "About two hundred years."

The man grinned back. "Try four hundred."

"Fascinating," Henry murmured. "You're quite different from me though. Do you just wake up wherever you were left?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Do you not?"

"Actually, no," he admitted. "I disappear and return in water. Always naked. Makes for some very interesting stories."

"I once walked out of a morgue after having a massive heart attack."

Henry considered that. "I don't think I've ever died that way."

He shrugged. "Not the best. Certainly not the worst. This really wasn't fun." He glanced down at the puddle, and traced his fingers across his chest. The spot that had recently been gushing blood was now scar tissue, looking years old. His skin was still stained red around it. He winced. "I liked this shirt."

Henry laughed. "I often bemoan the loss of my scarves when I die. To be truthful, I haven't quite figured out what happens to my clothes."

John smiled, and tilted his head up at the sound of sirens. "How are we going to explain this?"

Henry grimaced. "I honestly don't know. When I die, the evidence disappears along with me. You are much more difficult."

"Make a run for it?" John offered.

"I've got nothing better," Henry replied, offering a hand to help John to his feet.

The blood dripped off of him, and it was certain to leave a trail.

"Might want to-"

"Going to have to-"

"Yes," they said in unison. They grinned at each other.

John stripped his pants and torn shirt off, leaving only his boxers and shoes. Henry offered his jacket, which he accepted gladly.

"So Henry, do you live in New York? What do you do?"

"Yes. I'm a medical examiner," he replied, leaping over a puddle. "And you?"

"For a number of years now. I'm a cop, currently."

Henry smiled. "I'm actually surprised we've never worked together."

"Maybe one day," he commented. "So where are we going?"

"My son, Abraham, and I live not far from here. We can stay there for now until we get you sorted."

John smiled. "I have a son living in New York too. At least one that I know of, maybe more. Probably more. Omar, after the poet."

Henry smiled. "He's technically not my real son, but we adopted him. He's as good as."

John hummed, and followed behind him.

* * *

><p>When they showed up at Henry's home not long after, two men still somewhat covered in blood, and one without clothing except for underwear and a coat, it was a testament to Abraham's life experiences that he did nothing more than raise an eyebrow.<p>

"Interesting day?" he commented.

Henry sighed. "It's a long story."


End file.
